A/N: Yay! Another chapter. The story's coming closer to finishing. The plot and characters have been difficult. There are about two chapters left, and then I'm off to retirement-ville. In other words, enjoying the fifth book like everyone else.
As a writer, I think I'm really sensitive to criticism. Though I need it more than anything, and welcome it with open arms. Thanks a lot to Hauntress, because without her I'd die of poor fic-writing.
And of course, I love my reviewers with all my heart ^_^
Chapter Thirteen"I'm sorry." She said. "But I have to go. I'll be back, and…I'll meet you back here tomorrow night."
Then, she leaned up and kissed squarely him on the mouth as if to seal the promise.
"Go on, then. You probably need to see Potter and Weasley anyways."
But with a last fleeting look, she turned and left.
~
Draco found himself wandering outside the Madeleine. It was the perfectly alive midnight hour. He would find the other two again, but first, he needed to drink something. It had been a few nights without properly feeding on blood, and he awakened to the body that he forgot he was living in. All the living mortals around him were beings of heat and pumping blood. Walking pieces of meat.
Even on the public streets, it wouldn't be hard to simply pick one out, push them aside and drink.
They, with their soft eyes and twitching, live skin. They were in every essence beautiful organisms to be plundered and taken. Mortal death could come easily, death that translated into immortal life, with a squeeze from the grip, a puncture from the teeth. It should be easy, should come naturally.
Except that it was different. Hermione's face kept coming back to mind. Draco couldn't stop thinking that he was still human.
Human, rebuilt on the same blueprint but with superior substances.
And there was a creepy uneasiness there.
Draco crossed his arms over his chest. His body was cold, empty-feeling. Did marble statues feel aware that they are made of stone? That's what it felt like. The hunger was still gnawing, from every fiber in his body he felt a cold fatigue that needed to be satisfied.
Now he was walking about the streets in desperation.
Thirst. Fatigue.
Animal blood.
Draco turned himself into an alleyway. It stunk of garbage, rotting human waste. There would be rats, cats, and other foul creatures.
It was surprisingly easy to simply grab a squirming rat, and to slit its throat with a slice of the fingernails and squeeze the blood dry into his mouth. The vile creature stopped moving, its body went stiff and dead.
He didn't even have to dirty his lips. And the mouthful of the watery rat blood was a start, at least.
~
There was a single, tall, messy-haired man standing there after Hermione climbed out of the Floo fireplace at 4:02 am. He turned around, with a tired smile on his handsome face. Round glasses were perched on his nose, a thin lightning-shaped scar partially hidden behind his fringe of messy black hair. It was the same Harry Potter, but older, wiser, and wearier of the world.
"Harry," Hermione said, and she hugged him. (There seemed to be no sign of Ron.)
"It's good to have you back," he said, and led her out of the building with his arm around her shoulders.
"How is everything? Is everyone alright?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah…Professor McGonagall's alright, Sirius is okay…"
"What about Ron?"
"He's fine. He's been helping me, too. He couldn't come with me to pick you up…"
"Why not?"
"He was too tired."
Hermione nodded, but felt a particular sharp jolt to her side.
"Well anyway, Harry…I'm here to help you, so why don't you tell me what you have?"
Harry eventually helped her Apparate to St. Mungo's hospital. He filled her in on a lot of things he knew about the Book, about Torch and the idea behind the creation of vampires. They talked through the end of the night, near until it was bright outside, and dark circles were visible under Harry's eyes.
"Go on, rest," Hermione advised Harry.
"No…at seven we're supposed to meet with the others. And – don't tell them what I've told you yet."
Soon Hermione found herself trapped in the middle of a room with Harry, surrounded by all the people she was most dreading to see: Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Seamus Finnigan, Ronald Weasley and Parvati Patil. Most of their remarks towards her were of the same sort:
"Good to have you back, Hermione."
"I hope it was alright working abroad."
"We're glad to see you again."
Hermione tried to sit as unnoticeably as possible in her chair. She felt alien – even the sky outside the windows looked funny – she had become unaccustomed to the sun in several days of being completely nocturnal…
Then again, the other part of her was still flushing with shame and humiliation – and glancing at intervals at the red-haired man sitting several meters away.
Why was Ron constantly touching Parvati's arm and trying to make her laugh?
"We're going to search Malfoy Manor, look for any leads…"
"Yeah, look for anything Malfoy left behind…"
"Used the Veritaserum on Narcissa Malfoy but she can't seem to answer…"
"I think it was the Fidelius Charm."
Hermione was dozing off, lost more in her own thought.
Pay attention…
Yeah, but what for?
"What do you think, Hermione?" Remus asked.
"Hm?" Hermione asked, snapping awake. "Um. Catch You-Know-Who, right? Wouldn't it be easier if we just surrender?"
"What?"
"Why didn't we think of that before?" Hermione laughed easily. "We could feign that we surrender, then get close to him and attack when he's not expecting it."
Now everyone was staring blankly at her.
"We can't do that!" Ron said sharply.
"Why not?"
"We'll never be able to double-cross ourselves like that! We're not going to bring ourselves so low as to kiss the feet of that damned piece of…of…!"
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. "No, not kiss his feet, what I mean is –"
"Hermione, do you know what it means to follow the steps of Lord Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked grimly.
"No, Professor –" Hermione started.
"We have to fight him head on!" Sirius stated firmly.
"Oh, think logically. We would win this war if only we – " Hermione protested.
"We can't do it that way!" Ron snapped.
"Why not?" Now she was getting annoyed. "All we have to do is pretend that we've given up, and when he accepts it, we can attack directly – "
"Pretending its – no, no, that's impossible!" Ron cried, sounding as if the very words were poisonous to say.
"But – " Hermione began again. "You – don't have a chance otherwise – "
A roomful of shocked, crestfallen faces stared back at her.
"I –" She tried to start again. "Oh forget it."
And she stood up and left
~
Malfoy Manor was very dark, very empty. It was easy to climb the dark walls of the tyrannous stronghold, undo the spells and with an easy grace, pull himself into a large window.
The castle was devoid of any sound. Draco was on the second floor corridor, the long velvety carpet dusty, the floating candles lifeless.
He recognized the door to his old bedroom, his parents' bedroom, and the many multitudes of spare halls and studies; mostly Lucius's. The staircase would lead downstairs, to their living room, lobby, dining room.
The stony, deserted existence made the place look even older and emptier than it was. He should've been utterly alone…except for the presence behind him.
Turning around, there stood Ankar behind him in the hallway.
"Back here, Draco?" Ankar's round, smooth cheekbones were smooth, beautiful highlights on his skin. His tall, thin figure approached.
"I couldn't find you anywhere." Draco said testily.
"You can tell us where you go when you run away. You are, after all, one of us."
"One of you?"
"You know that, Draco. You've always known it. Sooner or later, you will have to accept it," he said in an irritatingly gently way. "You can be sentimental for the moment, just keep that in mind."
"Damn you." Draco muttered through gritted teeth.
Ankar strolled smoothly past Draco and glanced at the old portraits of the Malfoy family ancestors.
"Listen, Draco." His voice was seductive, commanding attention. "We are the Children of the Darkness. There are not many of us, we are only the sparse chosen few."
The shadows on the wall were dancing. Time was either going very quickly; or stopping altogether. There was a rush going by. Ankar's voice turned different; alternating deeper and higher until it wasn't him speaking, but the voices of forgotten others.
Ankar had a way with illusions.
About the walls were faces now; fuzzy because Draco's eyes were only half-open. Around Ankar's soft facial features, behind his elegant figure were dancing eyeless faces. Masks; like ghosts of theatrical masks, mockeries of people. They were swirling in cloaks of sparkles and silver – in dancing fabrics of violet, indigo, emerald. They were looking at him – a sweet-faced female with supple lips. A laughing child. An old man. A grinning devil with sharp dimples.
"They die. We do not. We need not pity mortals. They are food to us; their quickly-fleeting blood only temporary." Ankar pressed closer to Draco, his arms gripping Draco's shoulders forcefully. Draco felt Ankar's eyes on him – dark orbs of fiery black warmth.
And Draco then felt the hot taste of blood teasing his tongue; a cloud of a sensation that was not real. And it was the most enticing taste he had ever experienced; the sweet and salty almost-liquid that surged through his mouth in the most joyful and absolutely satisfying way.
"You don't even know your own power; you don't know your own possibilities. You could have everything – love, power, knowledge. You know this. You know you have the potential."
The feeling of energy was surging into him with the blood now. Powerful emotions – determination, optimism, ambition – drained into him with the blood that fell at his feet.
It would be so sweet, so satisfying to give in. The temptation promised him so everything – all he had to do was accept and everything would be healed…
Do it, Draco. Stop pursuing this meaningless and you can be part of us, this triumvirate we could be together!
Draco gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.
Join Ankar and Bardot, and become part of their powerful little ring.
A stubborn streak of pride would not let him bend over to that.
Something told Draco that power could not come so easily. It could not come for Lucius, nor for Tom Riddle.
And give in to listening to them for the rest of his life? What? No fucking way.
It took some will power, but Draco raised his hand over his face and blocked Ankar's face from his mind.
You don't understand, Draco.
"Yes, I do. Stop."
The dancing masks faded into the background of the room, until naught was left but Draco and Ankar in the perfectly normal stone room.
Ankar's eyes were livid with a sweet, seductive, greedy evil. But it was dying down. Ankar had miscalculated Draco; Draco had resisted.
Besides. It was wrong. That's what Hermione would think; because she, as most Gryffindors, could think in the face of temptation. Vaguely, in a land far, far, away, it was illegal to take such a surreal offer.
"You're going to have to get over this sometime." Ankar said, almost sadly. "You know we're different. Why are you even back here? What are you doing looking at your parents' pictures?"
Draco clenched his fists resentfully, now completely on guard.
"Don't forget. You wanted to let go of this life," Ankar whispered silkily. "You're not afraid of killing, surely you can learn to let go of these few?"
"And what's your point?" Draco asked coolly.
Ankar smiled. "Listen to what I'm saying."
Draco looked away with a sarcastic scowl.
Ankar toned down, back to his original self. "I just thought you should know about certain plans."
Draco rolled his eyes in a rather juvenile manner.
"You should probably know that there are these certain books in existence. Written by a wizard. They contain information about our kind, and could be very useful to a certain powerful wizard. And you may want to know that Bardot has possession of one of these…and is offering him this information –"
Draco's jaw dropped. "What? He's going to Lord Voldemort?"
Ankar nodded.
"Then what the hell is he going to do? Become a Death Eater?"
"Get power."
"Power?" Draco sneered. "That's – "
"We'll speak of it later." Ankar interrupted sharply. "Where have you been?"
"It's not your business." Draco replied coldly.
"With Hermione? That mortal girl that you're still in love with?"
Draco scowled. He had forgotten that Ankar knew who Hermione was.
"Take this, in case anything happens." Ankar produced a small white circular amulet hanging on a chain.
"What, a necklace?"
"A Talisman. I have reason to know advanced magic. It will protect you even from the light of the sun."
"This is all madness."
~
"How could you think of somehow like that?!" Ron demanded, as he caught up to Hermione storming through the hallways of St. Mungo's.
"Look at it, Ron, if we do it that way it would be so much easier!"
"We can't! That's just – impossible!" His face was burning red, and his whole body was tense.
"All right, all right." Hermione sighed, exasperated. "Forget it, okay?"
"But – we can't do that!"
"Yeah, okay. I know." She sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "You don't have to get so mad just because you don't like the idea," she muttered.
"We're going use Harry's idea. Change the contents of the Book and leave it there." Ron sounded comforted by his own words.
"Okay, Ron, but…oh, sure, whatever."
He looked so confused, his intense brown eyes were so agitated.
"That's fine, okay?" Hermione gave him a piteous look. "Do it your way."
~
Hermione was relieved.
At least there was nothing holding her behind. She had gone to make sure she wasn't making a mistake, and now she knew: she wasn't. She saw them for what they were - a group of misled wizards going on and on about fighting a war when the only things stopping them from victory were themselves.
She didn't hate them. But work with them? Really. It was sad.
And it wasn't her fault they were being so blunt-headed. They would have to learn the hard way.
Hermione didn't owe them anything. She didn't owe anybody anything – except maybe her muggle parents living in suburban London half a universe away – but aside from that, not Harry, Ron, not anybody.
Ron was just a stupid teenage boy anyway.
Hermione was her own person, she could do what she wanted.
And now she was back in Paris.
"Draco!" she cried.
They were there again, and she was looking into his stony-colored eyes and wanting to just freeze the moment. Draco pressed his hand to her cheek. "You're back."
"Yes, and I'm staying here with you. And I need to tell you something." She tugged at his sleeve. "They're going to raid Malfoy Manor."
"Raid the Manor – why?"
"It's about the war…Draco, you know your mother…"
"She isn't living there anymore."
"That's because they took her for questioning."
Draco paused for a moment, his sharp, vaguely angelic features lost in thought. "I wouldn't send your friends down there unless they wanted to die."
~
"So this is Malfoy Manor. I can't believe I'm seeing it."
Hermione stepped in through the window with Draco. And aside from Hogwarts and the Madeleine, it was the most interesting magical building Hermione had ever seen. Malfoy Manor was completely devoted to Dark Magic. The walls and moldings were decorated with stylized gargoyles and demons and various serpent-adorned versions of the Malfoy crest.
"There's so much dark magic stuff…" she said, impressed.
"The fireplace behind the drawing room leads to a secret room where my father held Death Eater gatherings. Just because most of the Death Eaters are dead doesn't mean they might still not be using it. And the…vampires know how to get here."
Hermione nodded, still fascinated with their surroundings.
"Oh, the staircases are made of solid marble," Draco said, seeing that Hermione looked interested. "The wall and floor paneling – see there – those are real Linovitch."
"Wow…"
"Be careful, there's a secret passageway behind that tapestry. Leads downstairs to the dungeon."
"Do all the tapestries have secret passages?"
"Pretty much. I have about five different ways to get to my bedroom from the first floor."
They sort of stood there for a moment, walking in the sullen silence of the empty hall.
"Here." Draco walked up to a particular statue and pressed a gargoyle's cheek. "This one leads to the library."
The wall opened up to reveal a very large room filled with bookshelves. Completely different from the Madeleine, its vaulted stone ceilings commanded grim respect. The shelves were framed in wrought silver and what looked like the Malfoy family coat-of-arms was engraved into many of them.
The only seating seemed to be a dragon-hide armchair in front of a large fireplace. Looking closely, most of the volumes were very old, rare spell books that Hermione was dying to flip through.
"Wow. Your family really were powerful Dark wizards."
"Of course." Draco said lazily. He sat down in the dragon-hide armchair and the fireplace lit itself. "And you'll never cease to be attracted to books, will you?"
Hermione smiled and came to sit on the armrest next to Draco. Then she playfully kicked off her shoes and put her bare feet on his lap. Draco immediately reached out and cupped her face with his hands and pulled her in to kiss her. Instinctively reacting to the warmth of his lips on hers, Hermione put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, a little stronger.
Until all of a sudden, she lost her balance and fell off the armrest and into his lap.
"Ahh!" she shrieked.
Draco started laughing before he caught her from falling off the chair altogether.
Blushing, Hermione laughed too, then pulled herself back up and put her shoes back on. Draco got up and gently put his arms around her waist.
Still, blushing, she diverted his attention elsewhere. "Look, there's you!"
It was a painting of Draco, a splitting image of him where he was glaring coldly. It was a perfect rendition, except that his real face was even paler.
"I got that when I turned seventeen. If you tickle it…"
Hermione walked up to the wall and tickled the painting Draco. It opened up to reveal an alcove in the wall.
"Look, we have one of these things." He took out a dangling chain with a small golden hourglass hung onto it.
"A time turner!" she gasped.
"You've seen one before?" Draco asked, mildly surprised.
"Yes…actually, I had to use one in my third year to take a whole lot of extra courses."
Draco pulled out a folded piece of paper. "See. This is my father's will. In case of accidental death, the entire manor and all the Malfoy family property goes to me when I'm twenty-one."
Hermione skimmed over it, fascinated. "Wow…six million galleons."
Draco smirked, looking amused.
"And half of it goes to your wife if you're married..." she read.
Draco's eyes glinted merrily. "So what're you trying to say?"
Hermione's cheeks turned pink again. "Nothing! Love isn't about money…"
"Well, generally that's how it is in my family."
"Really?" she asked, looking at him.
"Oh, yeah. Marry into other powerful families…like the Parkinsons." Draco strolled casually back to the large armchair.
"Were you in an arranged marriage with Pansy Parkinson?" Hermione asked curiously.
"Not exactly, we were just heavily encouraged. That's how it's always been for the Malfoys. Honor isn't about love."
"Was it like that for everyone in your family?"
"Sure. Responsibility, discipline, family honor, respect..." Draco's cold tone trailed off, but Hermione thought she sensed some vulnerability in his words.
"I'm sorry…" she told him.
"No – don't –" Draco said irritably. "It's not really bad…" He stopped again.
"It's okay." Hermione said, frowning. "I mean, Blaise Zabini – I was her friend for a while when we had an Arithmancy project to do together…she didn't exactly come from a loving family…but I dunno."
"I don't care. Seriously." Draco muttered flatly. "I don't live here anymore, I don't care."
She paused. "I dunno. I've drifted so far from my parents, it's like… I don't need them anymore."
"Family is far from everything. They're just a group of people who wouldn't give a damn about each other if they weren't related by blood."
Hermione silently agreed. Then she changed the subject. "But you liked Pansy, didn't you?"
A malicious grin came back over Draco's face. "Not really. Although she was always good for a quickie."
Hermione laughed disbelievingly. "You slept with anyone, didn't you?"
"It's nothing extraordinary," Draco said with a shrug. "Just about every Slytherin and every Ravenclaw had slept with every other Slytherin and Ravenclaw after fourth year."
"You've slept with…Cho Chang then?"
"During school? When Potter was infatuated with her? Maybe once. Not after she got mixed up with the vampires, though." Draco stretched lazily on the armchair, and he looked a lot more like his old self than the vampire.
Of course, it wasn't that extraordinary. Though internally, Hermione was still a tiny bit awed. Obviously a lot of hormonal activity went on at night at Hogwarts. Sex wasn't that dangerous – not compared to massacring a museum-full of Death Eaters.
"So basically," Hermione ventured. "Anyone could just sleep with anyone? Even…guys with guys and girls with girls?"
"I suppose. Though I never shagged any guys." Draco added. "What's with all the questions? It's no big deal, it's only sex. Oh wait, that doesn't apply to Gryffindors, does it?"
It did to her, at least. Although, if she had been sent back several years in time with what she knew now, there was no way she could've stayed a goody-goody prefect girl. "Not really. It was sort of only between the most serious couples who were really in love."
Draco snickered.
Hermione stuck her tongue out defiantly.
~
Draco was going to pull Hermione over to him to kiss her on the neck, when suddenly all the torches hung on the wall flared brightly on.
"What is that?" Hermione asked.
Draco immediately started to toward the hall. His first thought was that Ankar had come back; and it wasn't a thrilling thought to have to deal with him with Hermione around. "That means someone's come in through the dungeon."
"Who would come in? I mean…."
"It's not my parents. The only others who know about it anyways is…" Ankar. And Voldemort.
The Dark Lord? That was worse.
"Just stay there." Draco told her. He walked swiftly out of the library and to the nearest door that led to the dungeon.
Most of the rooms in the dungeons were where Lucius worked on potions. They were wand magic-proof; any wand magic that hit the walls would destabilize it. It was dank and cold, but something told him that someone was there.
A was a person standing in a lighted room. It was too small to be Ankar. That meant it had to be –
So it was.
"What are you doing here?" Draco asked sharply.
The snake-faced, red-eyed, Lord Voldemort turned around. He was as frightening as ever before. But Draco had startled him – he hadn't heard him walk in.
"Master Draco…what business is that to a junior Death Eater who has been so absent to my service…?" he spoke carefully, obviously doing some quick thinking. "I didn't realize you were still residing here."
A few months ago, Draco would've been scared out of his wits to have the Dark Lord speak to him that way. But – that was a few months ago. "Why don't you leave? You can't use this place anymore."
The slits of Dark Lord's nostrils flared furiously. He was obviously not expecting such a reaction. He knew something was different about Draco.
Then again, the Dark Lord didn't scare easily.
"And do you want to know what I'm preparing here, Master Draco? It is a very important potion." His thin, white lips curled a little into a smile.
Not exactly, Draco did not know.
"It is like the one I used for my reincarnation three years ago. Infused with my personal elements, and breath of the African Nundu, it is very dangerous and very powerful…"
The book Bardot had given him?
"As I heat this cauldron is lit above its freezing point, it will become toxic to any normal living being…that is of course, not including me."
Would it hurt him?
Draco whipped his wand out and cursed him so inhumanly quickly that even Lord Voldemort could not possibly have seen it as the jet of red light hit him in the shoulder.
He staggered for a moment, completely shocked that one of his servants had cursed him. He took out his wand -
"Draco!" It was Hermione.
"Incendio!" hissed the Dark Lord. The cauldron burst with enormous clouds of violet gas.
And then he Apparated and was gone.
Draco ran up to Hermione. "What is it?"
"When Nundu breath is raised above freezing it turns back into a poisonous gas…" she stuttered, choking on the violet fumes. It reeked awfully of strong acid.
"I think he's already partially turning himself into a vampire…" Draco told her. "What's happening?"
Hermione's small figure bent over. Her volumes of brown hair shook with the momentum of her coughing. And then he saw the blood that was spewed onto her hands from her mouth.
"It's affecting you," but not me.
Hermione nodded drowsily. Draco held her up as well as he could, and carried her out of the dungeon.
She was unconscious now. It wasn't hard for him to sense that her pulse was weakening drastically.
Yet he was perfectly fine. Memories of what Ankar had told him earlier came rushing back. Talk about his physical immunity as opposed to the mortal lifelines.
Her body was almost completely limp.
Draco hesitated and hoped he wasn't going to seriously regret what he was to do.
And he put his wrists to her mouth.
